


Ease your Pain

by LaLunaWritesStuff



Series: Moments of Spideypool [16]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, spideypool-fandom
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Love, M/M, Recovery, with just a sprinkle of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 04:28:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1765483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaLunaWritesStuff/pseuds/LaLunaWritesStuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mission turned sideways and Wade barely made it home, only for Peter to find him. </p><p>WARNING: lots of bloody gorey stuff, so if you're not up for it, wait for Nr. 17!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ease your Pain

**Author's Note:**

> Hey friends :D  
> This chapter I wanted to go a bit darker, more bloody, showing a different side of Peter's and Wade's relationship, with all the dangers in their lifes.  
> But don't you worry, there will still be a nice, fluffy ending, since I cannot live without one <3
> 
> So, brace yourselves and enjoy :D

Finally, the night was over. He’d been following a new police call every hour, at least that’s what it felt like to him, so Peter was glad when he arrived home. His web shooters were empty and he had to crawl up the side of the apartment building alongside the fire escape.  
Well, he could have taken the ladder, but the direct route was still faster. 

Peter breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the window, but then stilled. There was a bloody handprint just under the windowsill on the outside. And some drops of dark red on the wall under him.  
Wade had just yesterday sent him a text, saying that he would need another week for his way home. No mentioning what kind of mission he’d had this time, how dangerous it could be for him. Now that Peter thought about it, his lover had been very quiet about the details of this mission, but he’d been to occupied to notice.  
“Oh no,” Peter mumbled and hurried upwards to shove the window open. 

Immediately, the too warm air inside rushed out to him and his stomach clenched from the overwhelming smell of blood and burned flesh. He braced himself and pulled his mask off, throwing it inside to make his presence known.  
The living room was dark, but he didn’t need to turn on the lights to see that almost the whole floor from the window to the door next to the bedroom was drenched and slippery with blood. Behind the door, Peter assumed he would find Wade, and stealed himself once more.  
He took his gloves off and carefully stepped through the mess until he reached the clean parts, where he took the rest of his costume off. 

His mind and heart screamed at him to go and see Wade, check up on him, but he desperately tried to keep calm. They had talked about this in lenght, he knew what he had to do and for that he had to focus now. 

In the bedroom, he found some rubber boots (inexplicably, Wade loved those squeaky things with the yellow ducks printed on, he wore them every time it rained) and slipped in. Then Peter went to the bathroom to fill a bucket with warm water and bleach that stung in his nose.  
He also took the first aid kit from the wall, just for good measure. 

Just when he was about to step into the living room again, he flicked the lights on and sighed. There were huge puddles of blood on the floor, so big that he actually felt nauseous just looking at them.  
With a deep, uncomfortable sigh he put on rubber gloves and first soaked up the worst in kitchen towels, which he stuffed into a black trashbag. Peter didn’t even remember how often he’d done this now, cleaning up the remains of his boyfriend, allthough he never recalled it being that bad.  
It still made him sick, but he found it easier than the first times, when he was almost hyperventilating with panic and worry. 

The exhaustion from the night began to pull on him, made his movements sloppy, but he never intended to have the apartment super clean. He just wanted to have the floor managed, and then go to sleep.  
Peter made a face.  
Those thoughts bothered him a bit; _just clean it up, get it over with, and then sleep_. It made him feel guilty, but he didn’t really know what else to do. Wade would heal, so his part in all this was cleaning up and ensuring his boyfriend grew back together functionally. 

“That’s my life, huh ...,” he mumbled tiredly while stuffing the last soiled kitchen towels into the trash. God, he hoped that none of their neighbors ever accidentally tore one of those and looked inside when taking out their trash. 

Finally, he sweeped the floor quickly with the bleach, to get the worst of the smell out, and laid out some more kitchen towels so that he could step over towards the door. In his hands, he carried the first aid kit, a bottle of water and some ice packs, as well as a gel mask that had been in the fridge and another bucket he’d hung on his arm.  
“Wade, I’m coming in!” he shouted, not sure if he was even heard. His hand closed around the doorknob and he stepped inside the small, dark room. The light from the living room was more than enough to let him see the full amount of misery. 

The room was probably intended to be a broom closet or so, just tucked into the corner next to the living room window. Wade had tiled it from top to bottom and they’d put a metal gurney inside, topped with a padded rubber mat to lay on.  
Wade had even insisted on getting a metal basin that covered the whole underside of the gurney, deep enough to take masses of fluids.  
Now, it was filled to the brim with blood, enough for it to run over and drip on the floor; there was so much that Peter actually panicked for a second.  
”Wade ...?” he called out again and stepped closer to the red and black clad heap that might be his boyfriend. 

The older man was unconscious, twisted up on the gurney and just barely breathing. Peter cursed and threw the first aid kit and other things on a metal shelf that was the only furniture in the room. He put the bucket on the floor and it made a squelching sound on all the blood.  
Thankfully, there was a ledge to the living room, preventing anything from leaking out.

In the beginning, Peter’d found the idea of Wade installing a kind of “healing room” for himself weird. Scary even, like something right out of a horror movie. Now he was actually relieved to have a place to work with him, other that the bed or sofa.  
Also, it was clearly more sanitary, still smelling faintly of desinfectant under the stench of blood.

The young hero sighed again, on the verge of vomiting, when he turned his boyfriend around and all he could see was torn up flesh, gun shot wounds, gashes, burns, and sometimes even bone. And there were some parts of organs visible through the wounds on his stomach.  
“I’m gonna help you, okay?” he asked with a weak voice, before his trembling fingers hooked under the edge of the mask. Even in his head there were three or four shots, which resulted in some brain matter leaking out.  
“Oh God ... oh god ... oh god ...” Peter stammered through clenched teeth, removing the mask and then turning to the first aid kit. He took a pair of scissors out and began to cut away the remains of Wade’s costume, then removing his boots and the belt and weapons. 

Peter had no other choice then to leave Wade lying on the drenched gurney, after he’d managed to pull the strips of clothing out from under him. There was still no reaction from the older man, so Peter began to lay him out flat and tried to see if all of the joints were turned in the right direction.  
“Okay ... okay, you’re good so far ... uh ...”  
God, he felt so helpless, but he also knew that this was the most he could do for Wade – not freaking out and not leaving him to heal into a twisted mess. He could and he would do this, Peter thought to himself; he loved this man and would do anything for him.  
And what about that bit of blood, he ... no, he hadn’t seen worse.  
Well, until now, that was.

“Uh ... think ... think ... mask, clothes, boots, joints,” the younger man counted out loud, trying to surpress the surges of panic raging through his body. His hands were still shakin, so he tried to take a few deep breaths.  
“Arteries,” he finally finished his mental checklist, so he went to the bucket, filled once again with clean, warm water. There were some washcloths, big, soft pieces of fabric, that he now soaked up.  
Carefully he dabbed Wade’s body from top to bottom, just cleaning his skin a little to see if there was still any major bleeding. Luckily he couldn’t find anything he'd have to attend to with stitches. 

Peter was just turning to the shelf again, when a breathy moan came out of Wade. The hero turned, staring at his lover, but the other man didn’t move an inch.  
“Wade?” he asked again and took the gel mask and ice packs.  
The two ice cold blocks went left and right of Wade’s neck, the mask he laid gently over Wade’s eyes.  
“I just cleaned you up a bit, you’re gonna be fine,” he said softly and patted the only part of Wade he could touch; the two fingers of his right hand that were still attached. All others were growing back on this very second.  
Another moan, followed by some coughing was the only answer. 

But it was still a sign that he was healing, Peter thought. His heart calmed down again, the heavy pounding in his chest slowly subsiding, as he turned to the shelf once again.  
“I brought you some water. I’m gonna give you a few sips, then put it to your left.”  
He was pretty sure Wade could hear him by now, but maybe his lungs were still too occupied with breathing and healing, for him to try speaking.  
Another weezing cough and he spat up a scary amount of blood. Peter lurched forward, cursing loudly, and turning the Merc’s head to the side so he wouldn’t drown himself. 

There was blood all over the front of Peter’s sweatpants, but he couldn’t have cared less, as he was holding his boyfriend’s head for him to vomit out at least a litre of blood and fluids. When it was all out, Wade took a few heaving breaths, and then sank back onto the mat, his shoulders looking less tense.  
“Th ... ank ... y .. o ...u” the Merc rasped and Peter smiled a little, but felt his knees shaking. He refused to admit even to himself that this came from anything else than an exhausting night out and hunger.  
“You’re welcome. Can I give you some water?”  
A tiny nod followed and Peter held the plastic bottle on the split lips, pouring some into Wade’s mouth. After a few sips he coughed again, but it sounded less urgent, so Peter turned him onto his back again.  
“I’m just gonna ... clean up a little,” he explained and fished a small round gadget from the pocket of his sweatpants to press it into Wade’s palm. “Call if you need anything.”  
It might’ve not been the fanciest method, to give his bleeding and broken boyfriend a beeper that he normally used when he lost his keys – which were currently on the kitchen counter – but it was something.  
Wade didn’t really respond, just breathed out again, while Peter assessed the situation once again. He had honestly no idea what in the world he should do with so much blood. Usually Wade was the one cleaning up his healing room.

Peter noticed that most of Wade’s wounds stopped bleeding, then his eyes fell on some type of faucet under the gurney. And what do you know, as lucky as he was that thing was used to drain the basin under the mat. The young man swallowed down his ever rising nausea and went to get the cleaning bucket he used earlier.  
He was still incredibly tired and felt so sick, but he didn’t want to sit around or go to sleep and leave Wade to literally a whole room full of gore. So he at least drained two buckets full of blood and emptied them in the toilet, before sending a good amount of bleach down the drain, too.  
Since nothing was overflowing anymore, he went to clean up the floor and then gently dabbed all the parts of Wade that were already healed with a soft wet cloth, just cleaning him up a little bit.  
The Merc was out again, but Peter guessed he was just sleeping off the pain until he was healed, so eventually he put a bathrobe on the shelf for him and left the room, leaving the door ajar and the window in the living room open. 

Then, after a long, hot shower, the young man stood in front of the bed and stared at the two sets of pillows and blankets. He pulled a face, took his own blanket and pillow and headed to the sofa. He fell asleep within seconds, his head turned towards the open door of Wade’s chamber. 

********************

“Ugh ...”  
Wade slowly blinked his eyes open and was rewarded by a pounding in his head and by everything tinted green. He frowned, liftet one hand weakly, and touched his face.  
 **Are we blind?! OH GOD!**  
 _We wouldn’t see anything if we were blind. But we can see._  
 **But why is everything blue?! Are we colorblind?!” OH GOD!**  
“Ugh, quiet ...,” Wade grumbled

The Merc swiped one hand over his face and closed his hand around whatever was on his eyes. It was squishy and a bit wet, and when he finally grabbed it and squinted at it he saw it was a cooling mask. His. His cooling mask. He looked at the ceiling again, then lifted his head to see the gurney under his body. Huh, so he had made it home, after all. 

Man, this mission had turned sideways so fast, it was ridiculous. At least he’d still managed to get his money out of it, and probably, hopefully, all of his limbs. Grunting, he sat up slowly and frowned at his skin, still bruised and full of scabs, still-healing cuts and the ever-present bumps of cancer. Most likely he looked ten times worse than any other day.  
The door to the living room was open, a faint light shimmering through and falling on something white on the shelf.  
It was a bathrobe, and in his right hand there was a beeper. 

Now Wade remembered, Peter was there with him, set him back together and prevented him from drowing on his own vomit. Actually he couldn’t really drown, but he would probably not be awake by now if the younger man didn’t help him.  
A low smile spread across Wade’s scarred face, allthough he was still feeling badly beaten up. He stood up on shaky legs and put on the bathrobe carefully, before stepping out of his room. There were even some rubber flip flops waiting for him in front of the door, so he slipped right in. 

“Petey?” he asked, voice raspy and weak. He glanced to the bedroom, but the door was closed. 

There was only one light in the room, coming from the backlit cupboards in the kitchen. But it still cought a slim foot shifting on the armrest of the sofa.  
“Petey?” Wade asked again, whispering this time as he approached his boyfriend. Just as he assumed, the younger man was sleeping there, beautiful as always. His hair was mussed and stuck up from his head in wild curls, and his mouth was slightly open, that Wade just barely resisted the urge to kiss him (also because he was super filthy).  
But the Merc did also notice the dark shadows under his boyfriend’s eyes, the tired lines of his features that were visible even in sleep. He really shouldn’t be here on the sofa, but stretched out comfortably under the covers in their bed. 

Wade just watched him for a few more minutes, feeling his body heal itself and for once having nothing to say against the silence in the room. He reached over the back of the couch to brush a strand of hair from Peter’s forehead, while silently cursing himself.  
He had been so stupid tonight, not anticipating some kind of ambush, seeing how the rest of the job had gone – deals were broken and remade, intel had been missing and incomplete, and two meet ups had been canceled. It was bound to go downhill, but he hadn’t seen the signs. 

Wade never really worried about his life, after all, he couldn’t die. But now he did see something he gambled tonight. Someone could’ve been following him, he could’ve not made it home and bled somewhere in the street, leaving Peter to worry all night.  
Wade hadn’t even told him the full scale of the job, because he didn’t want him to be concerned.  
There was little doubt that Peter knew about these little lies. 

And still, Peter’d been with him, cared for his injuries and even cleaned up his blood all over the place. Wade remembered vaguely hearing the younger man’s voice through all his pain. 

“I love you, you know that?”, he whispered and went around the couch to pick the lithe body up.  
“Mmmh, wha ...?”  
“Ssh, go back to sleep, I gotcha.”  
“Wade?”  
Instantly, Peter’s eyes flew open and he moved to hold on to Wade, but then pulled his hands back. “Let me down, you’re hurt!”  
“It’s alright, we’re almost there.”  
It hurt like crazy and Wade bit back a groan when Peter struggled more and he had to let him down. Thankfully he hadn’t smeared any blood on his clothes.  
“How are you feeling? When did you wake up?” he wanted to know, his slim hands fluttering around over Wade’s body.  
“I’m okay, don’t worry. I just really need a shower. And I woke up about ten minutes ago,” he explained, while sowly making his way to the bathroom. Peter jumped after him and got into the room before him.  
“I’ll help you.”  
“You really don’t have-“  
“Yes, I do. You're bloody all over.”  
Wade rolled his eyes, he would prefer being alone and loathing himself for being so careless. More careless than usual, that is. 

Peter let him get into the shower first, supplied him with the extra soft towels and washcloths and his skin-soothing shower gel.  
They didn’t talk, all the while Wade watched red water swirl down the drain and hissed when he touched the worst parts that were still sensitive. Peter wandered around a bit, going left and right and probably still cleaning up after him, then he set one hand on the milky glass of the shower and waited.  
He waited.  
Wade felt his chest tighten at the sight. 

Even now, after all this time together, Peter still quietly asked before joining him in the shower, knowing how much the Merc hated being naked around even his lover. Wade pulled the sliding door open a bit and Peter stepped in, immediately turning his back to Wade and going for his own shower gel.  
”Petey ...”  
“Hm?”  
“I ... I fucked up.”  
The younger man turned around and gently hugged Wade, cradled the scarred, bald head in one hand so that Wade could lean his forehead on Peter’s shoulder.  
“I know,” he whispered softly and kissed the top of Wade’s head.  
“I’m sorry ... that you had to ... you know ...” Wade squirmed a little until he could lay his arms around Peter’s waist.  
“It’s okay.”  
Peter kissed him again and then breathed in the steamy air around them, hugging Wade closer. “It’s okay, you’re back now, nothing else matters.”  
Wade could just nod, a big lump in his throat and a tight feeling in his chest, where a scarred heart beat only for the young hero. 


End file.
